A Stuffed Bear

I did an activity with my student staff where everyone was asked to bring an item that was meaningful and important to them, and then describe that item to the group. I always knew what item I would bring, but I didn’t know exactly what I’d say or how I’d describe it. How does one convey a love so deep? How does one communicate memories that feel distant? How does a seemingly insignificant item like a stuffed bear now represent so much? What would I say?

I wanted to say more. I wanted to convey the heartache that is as strong and dark as my morning black coffee. I wanted to communicate how grief feels like the wind; strong and invisible, coming from nowhere but seemingly always present. I wanted to explain the numbness that now resides in my body; protecting me from myself. I wanted to describe how my life now feels like it’s in a constant fog, making it difficult to see the light, though I know it exists.

15 months later and it sometimes feels taboo to talk about my daddy. Yet, I yearn to share more about him. About his life and the legacy he left behind. About what it feels like to slowly watch someone die. About what being a caregiver is like. About how I’m not as strong as people think. About how my daddy’s love of golf has slowly rubbed off on me. About my daddy’s incredible ability to cook such delicious food. About. About. About.

But I knew last night wasn’t the space. Not for all of it at least. But it was the place to say something. To share that my daddy died of colon cancer. To share that I’m nervous I will slowly forget memories of him. To share how much I miss him. The stuffed teddy bear, that my twin sister's friend graciously made, means so much to me because it’s made of some of his old clothes. His golf shirt that brings back memories of him teaching me how to golf, a sport he adored. His sweater that kept his body warm and reminds me of his warm spirit. The plaid shirt which he wore for our final family photos just weeks before he died. He was such a trooper as we posed for photos in my backyard, knowing these would be some of our last memories together. The stuffed bear reminds me of my daddy. As it sits in our living room, I’m reminded of the man he was. I’m reminded of his legacy.

When my daddy died, a piece of me died with him. A part of my soul now buried in soil too deep to find and too heavy to carry. As I lost a piece of my soul, I gained a piece of my dad’s. His soul breathes life into my heart and carries me forward as I try to live a life he’d be proud of.